


we'll do the things that lovers do

by makeadealwithgod



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Office Party, jesus christ as the og wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeadealwithgod/pseuds/makeadealwithgod
Summary: In which office romance blossoms over an ugly sweater competition- or more accurately, acts as a catalyst to months of doubtful pining.





	1. Chapter 1

The bucket of spare change came rattling around the office like muted sleigh bells, clattering from cubicle to cubicle, with a brief pause of friendly banter between generous donors. By the time Feliciano had reached Ludwig’s office, the bucket swayed with each step, rattling as it bounced against his legs. There was an uncharacteristic sense of calm in the office; with Christmas less than a week away, the barely concealed frustration of editors trying to liaise between foreign correspondents who seemed to be in a constant state of rescheduling had been drowned out by the furtive scribbling of Christmas cards. The same conversation flowed from desk to desk- save a few idioms- had they got all their presents sorted? Were they going anywhere nice? Did they know what their New Year’s Resolution would be, and had they already managed to break it? Much to the despair of some- and utter relief of others- Ludwig had placed a strict ban on anything festive until December, which included issuing an almost entirely sincere warning to Feliciano for decorating the reception with tinsel halfway through November. Even after weeks of vigorous debate in the lunchroom, it was yet to be decided among the employees of _Der Spatz_ if tinsel was an inherent component of Yuletide.

Feliciano had taken it upon himself to organise the office Christmas party, and despite the minor setbacks of budgeting and fire safety regulations putting damper to some of his original plans, with his near militant fundraising and uncanny ability to ask a favour of practically anyone he came into contact with, he was fairly certain the party could end up being one of his greatest achievements. With only a few days to go before the party, and enough charm to talk himself out of a sunburn, the young man had successfully enlisted his coworkers in entering an “Ugliest Christmas Jumper” competition, and given the state of their casual dress, he was certain it would be a heated, and at the very least aesthetically agonising, competition.

In the early months of his employment, Feliciano had always made certain to knock on Ludwig’s door whenever he needed something, whether that be passing on a message or simply trying to make sense of his boss’ incredibly complicated system of organising. Unlike his brother, Gilbert, who left his door open and almost seemed to possess a sixth sense for when someone needed his attention, Ludwig seemed to enjoy the seclusion of his office, away from the chatter or constant babble of the radio- it almost made him seem beyond approach, or at least more occupied with things far too important for anyone else to understand. However, as time went by Feliciano slowly began to realise that Ludwig had never told him not to come in, nor did he ever seem particularly distracted from his work, and as he settled in the formality eroded altogether. The intrusion didn’t seem to bother Ludwig, and Feliciano’s surprise visits seemed to be a welcome break from scrutinising spreadsheets or attempting to keep on top of endless chains of emails. Besides, there was something undeniably charming about the startled look Ludwig would give his receptionist as he heard the door open, or the few seconds it would take him to string a sentence together- well, maybe not charming, but certainly endearing.

“Buon Natale, Ludwig!” The door creaked familiarly as Feliciano pushed his weight against it, the loose change in the bucket rolling and jingling together. He looked up to see Ludwig meeting his gaze with a look of patient amusement, and what seemed to be anticipation, having heard him make his way across the office. He looked at Feliciano as though there was a joke on the tip of his tongue, only the punchline was slipping further and further into the back of his mind, and the relevance of it was vanishing before him as he tried to perfectly encapsulate it. For a moment his lips parted and he looked to Feliciano thoughtfully, before pursing his lips and looking down bashfully.

“Frohe Weihnachten,” Feliciano’s fingers slipped slightly around the handle of the bucket, causing the change to clatter against the plastic walls, Ludwig rose from his seat, with a look of concern that appeared entirely inappropriate given the mundanity of the situation, “have you been carrying that around all afternoon? Here, let me take that.”

“Oh no, it’s really no problem-” Ludwig’s hand brushed against Feliciano’s as he took hold of the handle, his chest only a few inches from the shorter man’s. At once they were both aware that it was the closest they had ever been to one another, as though an imperceivable border had been crossed, and Feliciano was struck with how right his frame felt so close to him.

Ludwig carefully placed a hand under the bucket, holding it steady to silence its ever-present rattling. “Huh,” he chuckled to himself, feeling the weight of the container against his palm, “I suppose people were feeling generous today.”

“It’s a competition to see who can find the grossest sweater! It’s only £5 to enter, and all the proceeds go to the local animal shelter.”

“Ah, someone must have told you my weakness,” Ludwig placed the bucket on the corner of his desk and reached into his back pocket, pulling a £20 note from his wallet and slipping it through the plastic slit, “I adopted my dogs from that shelter, they do a lot of good work there.”

“Really? I’ve always wanted a dog, but Lovino said he already has to deal with one dumb messy animal and that if I did get one he’d end up having to take care of it because I’d always forget to, but I-” he smiled sheepishly, realising he might not have been painting the best picture of himself. He felt the conversation slipping between his fingers, and although he had gotten all that he needed, he didn’t feel at all ready to accept the moment as over. “Thank you, that was really generous of you. Maybe we should rig the contest in your favour?”

“You’d be in for a challenge, I’d rather just donate than enter the contest.”

“What? Where’s your Christmas spirit? You’ve got to give it a go, it won’t be any fun if you don’t try!”

“My Christmas spirit is stretched pretty thin when Christmas means having to find a way to make time for every employee to have time off and still make sure things keep on running, it means sorting out bonuses and each day having someone else give me a different reason for why they need even more,” he rubbed his temple and sighed deeply, avoiding Feliciano’s gaze as though he was responding to a third party who had asked him the exact same question, “it means spending money I don’t have on dinners and cards and silly sweaters I’ll only end up wearing once a year and still people will think I haven’t done enough.”

Feliciano let out an awkward laugh, that only succeeded in magnifying his uneasiness. Despite his older brother’s often vicious temper, as a firm believer that all of life’s woes could be solved by good food, beautiful sights, and if all else failed, a nap, Feliciano was never really sure how to deal with outright pessimism. A part of him felt guilty that Ludwig was so frustrated, Ludwig had always done his best to keep things running smoothly, and Feliciano knew that the employees of _Der Spatz_ were seldom easy to work with.

“No, I’m sorry don’t listen to me, it’s not your fault.” Ludwig shrugged his shoulders diffidently, although he could barely meet Feliciano’s eyes. His gaze was soft and he seemed genuinely embarrassed to have put the other man in such an awkward situation. “I’ll give the contest a try, maybe looking totally ridiculous is just what I need right now.”

Feliciano smiled sweetly, “I’ll hold you to that, Ludwig,” hoping that his boss’ earlier outburst would justify some slight teasing.

“I’m sure you will,” Ludwig moved back to his desk, his mind most likely racing with loose ends that desperately needed to be tied and countless projects in desperate need of revising, but his eyes lingered on Feliciano, hoping for a reason for him to stay whilst being painfully unaware of how to continue the conversation.

“Promise you won’t let me down!” Feliciano gave him a conspiratorial wink and headed back into the office, eagerly on the prowl for anything other than the stack of phone calls and paperwork he had waiting for him at his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ludwig discovers there are some benefits to still living with your older brother.

Even as a boy, Ludwig had found an inexplicable solace in dark winter evenings. The world seemed to shrink down into the most domestic necessities, the crackling fireplace- an anachronism for certain, but it was one of the few sentimentalities Ludwig couldn’t bear to part with- seemed to bring out a secret intimacy to his living room, it made every object new and endearing in the flickering amber glow. Without summer’s persistent need of action, the need to chase every ray of sunlight with an unrelenting dedication to excitement, life seemed far more objective. When focusing on what was tangible, what had to be done and how it should be done, he felt, if only for a few hours, truly and sincerely comfortable in his own skin. He was particularly grateful of this as he sat on the floor, an emerald sweater bunched up on his lap with lengths of tinsel strewn across the floor, waiting for the hot glue gun to warm up.

In truth, he had never really seen the purpose of office parties, if he had any desire to spend any more time with his colleagues he could simply do so in his own time, and although they were mostly-satisfactory writers and editors, the employees of _Der Spatz_ were a handful enough to work with, let alone be friends with. But then, it was also the first office party Feliciano had been at the company for, and it was courteous for Ludwig to be there, to make sure he felt included. And, perhaps, a chance for Feliciano to see that he wasn’t so intimidating, that he really did care about the cause, and the effort Feliciano had put into the party. It was far from professional, Ludwig was well aware, and in truth as much as he wanted to get to know the younger man, he was desperately afraid of being the object of any attention from him. Feliciano felt like the penny waiting to drop for Ludwig, he was constantly holding his breath, waiting for something to go wrong, something that would shatter the delicate friendship they could almost claim.

But it wasn’t just friendship; Ludwig felt like a teenage boy again, lost in daydreams of secret romances and painfully shy to the thought of ever coming close to what he wanted. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with his attraction either, some late-twenties closet-case Stakhanovite, he just wasn’t particularly used to dating- he had discovered rather quickly that inviting someone to share his space, time, and habits scarcely ended well for his nerves or their will to live. He had no trouble getting someone to like him for an evening (although the morning after was usually a different story), but he was desperate to impress Feliciano, and it was embarrassing and slightly troubling how deeply he cared about his opinion after a handful of half-conversations. Then again, Gilbert had once managed to give himself a several month-long eye infection from wearing cheap red contacts to try and get Elizabeta’s attention, which was at least some consolation. The old cliché ran through his head, it could have been anyone’s voice, a snippet from some half-decent romantic movie Roderich had left on, that “love makes you act strange”, or something similarly agonising. It wasn’t as though he loved him, he barely knew the man after all, but his feelings had a quality of self-preservation that he certainly wasn’t used to. Affection seemed to fill the empty space best, for Ludwig found himself fond of almost everything Feliciano did, he had slowly found each of his thoughts softer, accompanied with the thought of how it would measure in the younger man’s eyes, a yearning to be known and understood.

A searing pain jolted him back to reality, hot glue pooling onto his finger as he held the machine limply. Cursing to himself, he kicked the jumper from his lap and rushed to the kitchen sink, running cold water and already telling himself off for being so thoughtless. Was he truly so self-absorbed, so amazed at such a universal feeling? Despite the house being totally empty, he felt a pang of self-consciousness so violent he couldn’t help but find the entire evening obscene. On the living room floor, Ludwig could see a pool of cloth and cheap metallic plastic, strewn together like a child who had waded through a box of Christmas decorations- had he ever seriously considered wearing that out of the house? Embarrassment slid down his throat, like a thick rope tugging him further and further into himself, he was a creature of habit, and he could feel the familiar insults crawl up his larynx and curl against his tongue. The cool water drummed against the metal of the sink, Ludwig bent over and watched the water run off his finger, pink from the cold save for the angry patch of white skin where the glue had been and wondered if there was a way to exist without always having to be so painfully aware of it. He closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth, the way his therapist had shown him when he was 17 and hadn’t slept in days because he was certain the moment he shut off something terrible would happen. The room began to melt away as his chest rose and fell rhythmically, the steady thuds of the droplets being the only sound tethering him to the room. Ludwig didn’t know how long he stood there, his shoulders hunched over the sink, only that it was long enough for him to have not noticed the keys rattling in the door, or the sound of his older brother walking in.

“Someone’s been having fun,” Gilbert stood, peering through the door-frame, surprised slightly by the clutter.

“Something like that.”

"Hey,” his older brother frowned, noticing Ludwig’s hand, “did you hurt yourself?” He jerked his hand from out under the water, drops flying over the counter and trickling down his arm in cold ribbons.

“I’m fine,” his hand lunged to a paper towel, wringing his finger brusquely, “it’s just a burn from the glue.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened, taking in the haphazard array of decorations; he could see his older brother wrestle with the urge to tease him and his silly crafts project, but also his recognition that Ludwig was already upset. “So, you were being serious about the sweater? I thought that was just one of your unfunny jokes.”

"Thanks, brother.” His tone was sharp, but he was glad for Gilbert’s teasing. He hated it when Gilbert would comfort him, it reminded him of how much Gilbert had done for him when they were young, how he would pack his lunches before school and walk him home in the afternoons, stopping to name all the flowers in the passing gardens. It made him feel heavy with guilt, that Gilbert had sacrificed so much to keep him happy, and still he relied on him, as though after two decades nothing had really changed, they were just a little older.

"Don’t mention it,” his brother stooped over the pile, and tentatively scooped his fingers under the jumper, trying to get a better look at it without accidentally dismantling it.

“Be careful! I haven’t finished it yet.”

"Oh Lud, I don’t think I could ruin this if I tried,” Gilbert’s smile was beaming now, unable to contain his amusement.

Amber beams glowed form the fireplace and danced over the half-attached lines of tinsel, through the haphazard stitching across the chest, and flickered over the baubles that hung at varying degrees across the neckline. It was truly horrendous, but Ludwig had the feeling that it was less likely to amuse Feliciano, who he could only imagine observing such a travesty from across the room before heading home to immediately search for a new job. He pressed his head against the cabinet and wished the coolness of the varnished wood could distract him from the gnawing existential shame of his creation.

“Hey, don’t be like that! It’s- well it’s not good, but it is salvageable.” Gilbert strode over to Ludwig, his steps as light as a cat’s over the wooden floor, and flung the sweater down on the counter beside his brother.

"It’s hideous.” Ludwig stared at it mournfully, wondering how the dull fabric had absorbed his entire evening, or how he had been so oblivious to the mess in front of him. “I should have just bought one from the market.”

"Yeah, why didn’t you do that?”

"I didn’t want to waste my money on something I was only going to wear once- something that is supposed to be ugly by design at that. Besides,” he looked down to his finger, the pain was gone and its coldness felt odd against the heat of his palm, “there might be someone I was hoping to impress.”

"Say no more, dear brother, you _shall_ go to the ball!” Gilbert lifted his arms impressively, with such conviction Ludwig half expected an ivory carriage to appear from a plume of emerald smoke. Unfortunately, the sweater was still ugly.

"Have you been drinking?” Gilbert laughed; it was abrasive and curt and one most would mistake for rudeness or a tendency towards mockery, but Ludwig knew his brother to be someone who laughed at all things ridiculous, which turned out to be most situations he found himself in.

“I wish, instead I’m going to go find Oma’s sewing machine while you undo the carnage, then we’re going to sit down and make an impressively ugly sweater. You know, like normal people.”

Ludwig turned the hob on, and as hot chocolate simmered and the room began to smell of sweetness and old memories, they spoke about how they would wade through the snow to the nearby hill, and watch the neighbourhood kids blur into pinpricks the colour of their coats at the bottom. He remembered how Gilbert would always bring two sledges, the paint chipped away and the string rough and frayed, but Ludwig would never go on his own, he would sit between Gilbert’s legs, with both their hands pulling on the rope at the front. Even when he was too big, and they’d go tumbling off halfway down the hill, falling into the snow breathless and giddy as their sledge shot away, he never went without Gilbert. And now he sat, his foot bobbing on the pedal of the sewing machine, plotting ideas for the sweater with the precision of a military tactician moving counters across a map, he must have been the greatest man Ludwig knew.

There is a quality to childhood memories, something that makes them unquestionable, the desperation to preserve every wonder and mystery as freshly as it was the moment it formed. Ludwig thought of them often, but only as a spectator, as one would watch a movie from the back row, never noticing how the shapes have changed, or what lies out of focus. But with the gentle warmth of the firelight and the sugar in the air he saw himself coming down the stairs, the years merging together into a kaleidoscope of Christmas mornings, staring in amazement at the tree, that had only the night before been as drab and green as any plucked from the forest, now shone with fairy-lights and glass ornaments and ceramic figures hanging by golden thread. It was only then, as his brother sat in front of them, twisting thread through the sewing machine’s spools, that Ludwig realised it had been Gilbert who had stayed awake until the early morning, making sure everything would be perfect. He looked at his brother, engrossed in his work, his brows furrowed as he planned out every stitch, narrowly avoiding his fingers as he slipped safety pins through the fabric.

And so they sat, shoulder to shoulder as the night slipped away behind them. They spoke of markets in cities they had always hoped to visit, and when silence fell between the pair the room was cradled in the muted sounds of a choir concert down the road. Gilbert had never been one to stay still, Ludwig thought as his brother’s mind raced from idea to idea, his hands darting from machine to pin to decoration with the precision of an arrow, and maybe that was why the past remained so unspoken to them. For Gilbert, there would always be something better waiting just beyond the horizon, whilst Ludwig found himself paralysed with the fear that his golden days had passed him by without him even realising, but he could feel as though something was changing. It wasn’t that meeting Feliciano had caused such a change, but that wanting to finally share himself, even if that meant subjecting himself to office parties and awkward small talk, was part of recovery. The anxiety was still there, and some days it felt impossible to see the world without thinking of how fragile it all was and how easily everything could fall apart, but for the first time in many years, he felt unapologetically hopeful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it becomes painfully apparent that the author has watched far too many Christmas romcoms.

Conversation rippled across the room, ebbing and flowing with laughter and whispers and voices spilling over one another as they raced to finish their stories. Despite the vastness of the hall, every step seemed to lead him into a different circle of discussion, and along the walls stood barricades of hushed murmurs and glances into the crowd. Feliciano had always loved parties, as soon as he could make sense of the world around him he had found an affinity for all things bold and glamorous, and from the moment he started to walk he was ushering his Nonno and Lovino to elaborate tea parties. But now, as the smell of prosecco and cranberry clung to the air, he found himself unable to revel in it. He had started to set up the hall in the afternoon, and despite how engrossed he usually found himself in all things creative, his attention lingered on the door, waiting, no matter how irrationally, for a certain face to appear.

At least, it had been irrational a few hours earlier. Now his glances to the door grew more and more frequent, and he couldn't escape a distinct feeling of unease. It wasn't that he didn't care for the enjoyment of his colleagues, or that the entire evening had been a romantic gesture, but a part of him, however small, had measured the success of the party by how it would measure in Ludwig's eyes, and without him Feliciano couldn't help but feel as though he were in limbo.

Feliciano felt an arm drape itself across his shoulders, drawing him from his thoughts. “You’re not looking for my brother, are you?”

“I could report you to HR for that,” Feliciano glanced at the older man, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gilbert’s liberal approach to personal space was refreshingly European to Feliciano, who had still been struggling to get to grasps with the curt formalities of London.

“You wouldn’t, you’d miss me too much,” Gilbert was so unlike his younger brother it was staggering sometimes. Ludwig spoke with painstaking deliberation, all words chosen and scrutinised the moment they tumbled from his lips, whereas Gilbert seemed to pluck conversation from thin air, with the easy confidence that he had said precisely the right thing. When speaking English, Ludwig’s speech was clipped and restrained, unlike Gilbert who had managed to take his Berlin accent across the channel with him.

Shrugging his arm off, Feliciano turned to him. “You’re so right. Have you seen Ludwig? I’ve been trying to find him all evening” His name felt strange, it wasn’t a sound that he was yet accustomed to, and the noises seemed to fall like cinder blocks on feathers. There was something revealing about it too, Ludwig was a name he had repeated in his head in almost every quiet moment, imagining endless conversations that flowed between one another, never quite coming to a halt. His name sounded different then, the noises were soft and curving, warm like sand under golden sunlight. Out loud it stumbled, scraping against his throat and trickling out as thin as air.

“So this wasn’t all for me?” Gilbert tilted his head back, taking in the decorations sprawling across each and every surface, his eyes darting across the room and back to Feliciano’s mischievously. “Truly, I am wounded. But who am I to deny Cupid’s arrow? I am a romantic, after all.”

“What?” Feliciano panicked, realising just how inconspicuous he had been. “It’s not- don’t get me wrong, he’s a great boss, and we do talk a lot, but nothing serious, really, I just like asking him questions- and he knows a lot of stuff! But that’s- I mean he probably doesn’t even remember my name, he’s really busy and he talks to a lot of people, I mean phone call after phone call- oh, and emails too.”

“He always seems to make time for you.” After a few weeks of working with him, Feliciano had found that Gilbert had a tendency to see just how far he could push any boundary imposed on him- it was a trait that was easily (and understandably) mistaken for maliciousness, but Feliciano took it as a boyish curiosity he had never quite grown out of. There was nothing boyish about Gilbert’s smirk, however, and he suddenly felt very small, and incredibly stupid.

“I just wanted to make sure he was having a good time, he seemed stressed recently, that’s all.” His fingers twiddled the red pom-pom on his sweater miserably, thinking that of course Ludwig wouldn’t show up if Feliciano was doing such a poor job of not embarrassing himself.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, although Feliciano could see him falter at his scowl- it was equal parts powerlessness and malice, the result of sharing a room with his older brother throughout his most formative years, “sorry, I was just kidding around. Lud’s just there, doing his best impersonation of a strip of wallpaper.”  


Although he had nearly perfected the mannerisms, his choice of disguise had relegated him to beginners camouflage, as the bright green wool and gold tinsel made for a stark contrast to the beige walls. For a moment Feliciano wondered how he could have ever skimmed over such an aggressively festive outfit, but then, it was exactly what he hadn’t expected Ludwig to wear, and the cognitive dissonance between the two had rendered him unrecognisable at first. Felicano could have sworn he caught Ludwig’s eyes for a moment, but as soon as his gaze had been met, Ludwig turned his attention back to the table in front of him, pretending he hadn’t seen Feliciano approaching.

“Ciao, Ludwig!” Feliciano beamed, perhaps too enthusiastically, but then he had never been one to conceal his excitement.

“Oh, it’s nice to see you,” he had the conflicted expression of someone flickering from sentence to sentence, not quite able to commit to one, “I didn’t notice you there.”

Feliciano couldn’t help but grin- he was hardly surprised that Ludwig was a bad liar, much of his awkwardness seemed to stem from an irrational commitment to honesty. It was so simple, so painfully transparent, that Feliciano couldn’t help but find it endearing, how someone could be so reticent and yet so easy to read. By the time he had remembered that he was supposed to reply, instead of simply admiring the man beside him, the moment had passed, and they fell into silence.   


Ludwig stroked his thumb over one of the many Poinsettias spread across the table, the red leaf cracking slightly under his touch. There was an intimacy to his movement, the way his thumb followed the curve of the spine, or how his fingers cradled the underside. "Are these real flowers?"

"Of course! They're so much prettier, no?" He felt in his element, slipping into the conversation as though it was cool water on a mid summer's day. "Oh, and I read in the papers that if we don't cut down on our plastic use by 2020 that-"

"Trust me, Feliciano, on any other day I would be more than happy to talk with you about the impending peril of climate change with you, but perhaps not on Christmas Eve."

"Oops," Felciano grinned sheepishly, "sorry, sometimes I have so many thoughts running through my head that I worry if I don't say it all at once I'll explode."

"I can tell." At any other moment, the curtness of Ludwig’s reply would have startled Feliciano, but the younger man’s gentle smile reassured him that it was all in good faith. Feliciano hadn’t taken him for the teasing type, and for a moment he thought, incredulously, that he could be flirting. Stranger things had happened, but it was a tough competition. “Where are my manners? Would you like a drink?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” despite himself, he couldn’t help but smile at his antiquated manners, he was charming in the same way an old photograph of total strangers could feel warm and inviting.

Their shoulders brushed as they walked up to the bar, the holly-berry red of Feliciano’s jumper sliding against the particularly garish shade of green of Ludwig’s sweater, decorated as though he were a Christmas tree that had, upon achieving sentience, enrolled itself in an accounting degree. As they sat together, talking in a low hum that seemed to cut through the constant ambience of the hall, Feliciano snuck glances at him, peering up from his glass of Barbera. The first few times they had caught one another, they snapped away, quickly finding a new mundane conversation to be had, to quietly disguise their embarrassment. But as their voices grew lower, and the evening began to feel warm and endless, they held their gaze, and laughed to each other, partly in shock of their boldness, but too because they had no idea what it meant. Once, Feliciano had wanted desperately to tell Ludwig he had beautiful eyes, mostly because they were blue and endless and soft as a summer sky, but partly too because it felt like the kind of thing you said to someone you couldn’t stop looking at. He had wanted to, but he realised that the moment the words left his lips, he would have no way of knowing how the other man would respond, and resolved to take a long sip from his glass, and allow Ludwig to decide for himself what that meant.

“Did I tell you that I loved your sweater?” His fingertips brushed against the cuff of Ludwig’s sweater, feeling the warmth of his hands underneath the soft fabric. The lights seemed dimmer over the pair, and Feliciano wanted to trace his fingertips over Ludwig’s arm, his jaw, his lips, across his shoulders, and wherever else his shadow lead him.

“Surprisingly, no.” The other man seemed distant, his gaze flickering from Feliciano to over his shoulder, watching his co-workers drift across the room, the crowds fracturing into smaller groups, and couples sneaking off to a quiet recess, unknown to those surrounding them. Occasionally his gaze darted up to the ceiling, his fingers tracing shapes across the bar as he did his best to conceal whatever was going through his head.

“Are you okay, Ludwig?”

“I’m- I’m okay,” Ludwig took in a deep breath, looking at Feliciano gravely, “are you particularly traditional?”

For a moment Feliciano wondered if he was being propositioned for something- if he was, he was both concerned and intrigued. “If there ever was a time to be traditional, it would be Christmas.”

“Ah,” his chin pointed up to the ceiling, golden light grazing his jaw. Feliciano followed his gaze, to the white berries hanging above them, shining opalescent in the light. They seemed so delicate, cradled in a shroud of leaves, bound by a red silk ribbon; Feliciano would have complimented the arrangement if it had not been him who had hung the mistletoe earlier that afternoon. There was something undeniably romantic about Christmas in his eyes, and something even more charming about the way couples flickered under the mistletoe, sometimes by chance, but often with hushed excitement and feigned surprise. Unfortunately, he had spent so much of the evening anxious to find Ludwig, he had entirely neglected to keep track of those under the plant (which was a marked tragedy in Feliciano’s eyes, as it would have been a very useful way of establishing the state of any office romances and scandals) and eventually forgotten about it entirely. That was until Ludwig had pointed it out, and he suddenly realised the profound distance between  _ should  _ and  _ want _ .

“We don’t have to,” Feliciano took a small sip of his drink, tasting berries and bitterness and finding it very hard not to think of how Ludwig’s lips would taste, “I only hung it there as a joke.”

Although his glass was empty, Ludwig’s fingers lingered on the cool surface, tracing the grooves along it softly. “I suppose not,” his cheeks were ever so slightly red, and his voice had grown low as he leant toward Feliciano, “but would you want to risk a year of bad luck?”

“I don’t think that’s a rule,” but then again, neither of them particularly cared, and the distance between the pair had grown so small that he knew no excuse would be enough to tear him away.

For anyone who had been watching the pair across the evening, it would be impossible to determine the moment they had began to draw together, as they had spent their conversation slowly closing the distance between them until it had seemed all but inevitable. But as they stood, chests inches apart, it was Ludwig who leaned in and kissed him, bending down slightly. The kiss itself was chaste, Feliciano only felt the touch of his lips for a second before Ludwig drew away slightly, his eyes closed as their breath was the only thing that separated them. Neither of them spoke, knowing that the moment they drew apart the world around them would recommence, and the moment would cease to be theirs alone.

A moment passed, and Feliciano felt himself sway towards the bar, lost in equal measures to his thoughts and the Barbera.

“Steady?” He felt a pair of hands at his waist, and looked up to the taller man, his powder-blue eyes watching him mournfully. Something about his look seemed uncharacteristically lost; despite his awkwardness Ludwig had always seemed to retain a sense of purposefulness, yet before him, Feliciano saw a young man who had precisely no idea what to do next. It seemed rather evident that bravado was a particularly finite resource for Ludwig, if the way his hands were slowly shying away from Feliciano’s body was any indication. “I’m sorry-”

“Buon Natale, Ludwig,” Feliciano leaned up on his tiptoes, placing one hand on Ludwig’s shoulder, and his other against his chest for balance- among other reasons- and kissed him, his lips parted softly with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you anyone who managed to struggle through this to the bitter end! If you have any thoughts or feedback, please feel free to leave a comment, or you can shoot me a message on my tumblr @transfeliks. Thank you so much! <3


End file.
